


Herbology | Cultivated Comfort

by JessicaDoom



Series: Seven Shades of Magic [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Auror Harry Potter, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Diagon Alley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Herbology, M/M, Marijuana, POV Harry Potter, Plants, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaDoom/pseuds/JessicaDoom
Summary: At the far end of Diagon Alley, just past Ollivander's and a shop selling the most eclectic junk, sits a greenhouse. Blink and you just might miss it beneath an overgrown canopy of nature threatening to overtake it. It is within this greenhouse that Harry Potter finds his escape. From work, from the real world…and, most importantly, from his ex-boyfriend.But, escapes never truly last forever. Harry soon finds out the hard way that running from your past does not solve it. Nor does it ever change what you may have done.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Harry Potter
Series: Seven Shades of Magic [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900732
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Magic anthology](/series/1900732), the third in a series of collaborative projects within the [Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry) collective.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/2Qx1l1Y); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.

* * *

** I. **

At the far end of Diagon Alley, just past Ollivander's and a shop selling the most eclectic junk, sat a greenhouse. Blink and you just might miss it beneath an overgrown canopy of nature threatening to overtake it. Neville Longbottom called it the alley's "best-kept secret", but of course he would.

Even so, without a bias for Herbology himself, Harry Potter had to agree with Neville. Stepping through tendrils of ivy into a world which didn't appear to otherwise exist? There was something magical, even aside from the obvious thrumming current of power radiating from the greenhouse's vegetal occupants.

Harry would be hard-pressed to admit it to anyone, but this was weirdly one of his happy places. Neville, who naturally had a calming aura about him, tended to the plants and usually worked in silence. When he didn't, the greenhouse was filled with Neville's off-key attempts to hum along with the wireless. Nothing was ever raucous or violent in this greenhouse, at least not in the way humans could be. Sure, there was a flourishing pot of Devil's Snare off in one corner, but even that could be kept sedated with proper care.

What really made the greenhouse comforting to Harry lay beyond its glass walls. On the far side of Neville's shop was another door which a person might wrongly think led on to a back office or storeroom. Neville only let a select few beyond the door into what he called "The Sanctuary".

Honestly, it was just a glorified garden separating the greenhouse from the cottage Neville called home. But in the centre of the carefully landscaped circular path was a towering weeping willow whose branches concealed a perfectly cosy hammock and it was one of the greatest escapes Harry could truly find whenever the world became too much.

Today was one of those days.

If it was even possible, today was the _worst_ of one of those days.

Harry shuffled under the tendrils of ivy and wisteria, through the greenhouse with a careless wave in Neville's general direction, and out into the controlled sunny environment of the garden. The instant he was through the willow's weeping branches, he flopped back into the hammock with extreme abandon. The metal bars of its frame groaned at the abuse but ultimately held his weight and left him still suspended and swinging back and forth in a methodical rhythm.

In a defiant effort to shut out anything but this moment right here, Harry slammed his eyes closed. He breathed deep and slow, pulling the fresh scent of sun-baked flowers and the simplicity of nature down into his core.

Nature didn't ask questions.

Nature didn't pry.

Nature didn't become engaged while on holiday and flaunt their fiancée around the Ministry of Magic like a show pony.

Nature did what it wanted to when it wanted to, but always with intention. It wasn't sly or conniving and Harry respected that. He respected things that were simply as they were, unapologetically.

Harry only became aware that he was muttering to himself when sunlight filtered into his hideaway, Neville standing backlit in its shine as he inquired about who was engaged. For a moment, Harry merely contemplated the way Neville's hair seemed to glow like rich, molten chocolate, unsure if he wanted to talk about what was troubling him. Talking about it made it real instead of just a buzzy mess inside his head.

Eventually, one word fought its way past his tongue — "Ginny" — leaving the sour taste of envy in his mouth.

Things had been over and done with between Harry and Ginny Weasley for years. They hadn't lasted long once the war subsided and the adrenaline of it all dwindled away. But there were no hurt feelings! Harry still loved Ginny like a sister and somewhere past all of his current jealousy, he was happy she had found someone to make her happy. If only that someone wasn't such a self-righteous git.

"Why does it bother you if Zabini finally popped the question?" Neville inquired, settling into a cross-legged position in the soft grass. In his hands, he tenderly held a small ceramic blue pot which housed what appeared to be just a few fuzzy, yellow leaves. Neville ran the pad of his pointer finger over the leaves as he continued to ruminate. "I thought you'd decided he was an alright enough bloke for Gin. You'd decided she could handle her own. Remember?"

Considering this realisation came after Ginny rather publicly called Harry out for "being unnecessarily interrogative" to her then-boyfriend (who was _nothing_ like his mother, thank you very much) — yeah, Harry remembered it quite clearly. And, truly, he had nothing against Zabini or the relationship he had with Ginny. They were a good pair. Well-matched in nearly every way. No, it wasn't their "happily ever after" that irked Harry.

It was their need to ensure everyone around them was just as happy as they were.

"Yeah, of course. But…," Harry hesitated, closing his eyes to better focus his thoughts. He felt like he was reeling, spinning. He felt out of control and ready to go fully off the rails. That old, panicky feeling was back, buzzing in his fingertips.

"But?"

Harry flexed his fingers absently as he struggled to put the feeling into words. " _But_ …Zabini had to go and ruin our amicable terms by asking when I was 'finally going to make an honest man out of Draco'."

Neville huffed that tell-tale sigh. The "Draco Fucking Malfoy" sigh. All of his friends had likely heard the name enough to last them a lifetime and had collectively perfected this specific noise of annoyance. Not that Harry blamed them, he was tired of ruminating on his ex-boyfriend, too, even while the wound was still quite fresh after only a few months. Then again, a wound never properly heals when the scab keeps getting ripped open. Harry himself had done most of the ripping, but somehow it hurt more when someone else took their turn.

"I know," Harry muttered, combatting Neville's sigh with a forlorn one of his own. "But this time I'm not complaining about him directly. It's just…they were mates, weren't they? Or at least friendly. You'd think friendly enough for Zabini to know we broke up. That we've _been_ broken up for some time now. So, y'know, I'm not standing in the middle of the Atrium stammering it all out like a fucking madman."

Harry could hear Neville rising from his folded position in the grass. He heard the soft shifting of clothes and the squeak of worn-out trainers. A moment later, weight carefully settled beside him in the hammock, truly testing the limits of the charm which held it in place. Harry kept his eyes firmly sealed shut, attempting to avoid the scorch of the inevitable lack of patience Neville's face would hold.

"Is this a conversation that needs to be had… _not sober_?" Neville asked delicately, warring with the mental picture Harry had cooked up in his mind.

What Neville was really offering was the option for Harry to unhealthily process his feelings under a cloud of smoke. There was definitely something to be said about the fact that Harry's spirit brightened at the thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He barely peeked out through one eye, reaching for one of Neville's hands and gripping at his palm tenderly. Silently begging to be whisked away to a plane where his problems never seemed quite so harsh.

"C'mon then," Neville chuckled, threading their fingers and tugging Harry up out of the hammock. In one hand, he held his little potted plant above his heart and, in the other, he held Harry together just as he had been doing for the entirety of this half-year since things with Draco ended.

As they were inevitably meant to. Looking back on it all, Harry could now see that there was no way they could have lasted any longer than they had. There was no reconciling their differences, as much as a buried part of him still wanted to.

Neville's one-room cottage looked just the same as it had when Harry had left that morning. Their breakfast dishes were still on the table, the bed unmade, and his forgotten watch still on the nightstand. If he walked to the toilet, his towel would probably still be where he'd left it on the floor. He spent more nights in Neville's bed these days than in his own, the evidence of which smacked him in the face every single time he walked through that door.

With this realisation in mind, Harry leaned slowly back against the solidity of said door until it closed with a reassuring snap. Neville was already digging through one of his kitchen cupboards. Harry could hear jars clinking about as Neville obsessed over finding just the right strain for their situation. He was a man on a mission, the deep concentration evident in the subtle way one of his too-big front teeth bit into his bottom lip. The pot he had been so lovingly cradling sat proudly in his windowsill above the sink, its petals twitching this way and that as it appeared to bask in the shower of sunshine streaming in.

"Joya del Sol," Neville supplied when he caught Harry watching. His "medicine" cupboard was now closed, a repurposed baby food jar filled with dried, green flowers in his hand. "Just a sprout. Practically a baby. When she reaches maturity, she'll be as bright as a dying sun — and nearly just as lethal." He spoke with unbridled admiration as his plants really were his children. He raised them, fed them, ensured they were safe. And, when the time was right, he helped them find their destined purpose in life.

Harry followed Neville to the small sitting area opposite of the bed. They settled comfortably beside one another on the sofa and set to work in learnt rhythm. "Why keep something around if it's so dangerous?" Harry asked as he grabbed a fresh sheet of rolling paper and worked on giving it a centre fold.

"You've killed more people than my baby Joya. I still keep you around."

The world shifted, tilting on its axis in a way which left Harry feeling like he was spinning. Being here very suddenly didn't feel right anymore. It didn't feel like his escape. It felt like just another mistake that he kept choosing to make over and over and over again. He ran to Neville who was soft and kind but who also had a penchant for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Which was fine for a while, but then they crossed that boundary from friends to…something else. They smoked, ended up too high, fell sloppily into bed. Over and over and over again…. It was a vicious cycle which felt so comforting, but there was no way this was healthy. Not when Harry was still so hung up on someone else, as hard-pressed as he may be to admit that to himself.

He should have left then, when the self-realisation was so fresh in his mind. But the idea of escape still sounded too inviting. Neville had already ground up half a bud and was sprinkling it along Harry's waiting paper. And the coming effects were far too inviting to rationalise against.

His fingers were working on rolling the joint together before he could fully process that he'd made a decision. He ignored the comment for now, pushing it aside so it could fester along with everything else he refused to deal with.


	2. Chapter 2

** II. **

Somehow, Neville was a morning person. Every single time Harry stayed over, he regretted forgetting this crucial fact. As always, he was awoken too early for the lateness of their night before to straining sunlight streaming in through purposefully parted curtains. From the sound of his humming and clattering, Neville was in the kitchen already making breakfast. The idea of a fatty full English was certainly appealing; however, Harry couldn't deny that he would rather be sleeping in than contemplating the motions necessary to make his way towards food.

In the end, the wafting scent of sizzling sausages won out and Harry practically flung himself out of bed. He was standing, but he wasn't all that happy about it. His mouth tasted stale, his limbs felt sore, and his throat was impossibly dry. He reached for an abandoned beer bottle on the bedside table, chugging back its warm, flat contents in an attempt at some sort of reprieve.

Somewhere behind all his bodily needs, a remainder of magic buzzed beneath his skin. Neville had become quite skilled over the years at melding the art of Herbology with a mastery for Charms. His greenhouse was popular for its unique array of speciality and or customisable options. A more secret vein of this operation was in the cellar beneath the little shop where each flourishing marijuana plant was crafted to serve a specific purpose.

Last night, like most nights of late, had been spent under a cloud of what Neville had come to call "Dragon's Gold". There was a science behind it that he'd explained to Harry at least once, but all he'd really needed to know was how it made him _feel_. And a few lungfuls of that always made him feel like his problems were miles away. The weight upon his shoulders would melt away, making him an entirely different person.

But it also always made him feel like complete and utter shit the next morning.

"Morning!" Neville crowed, calling attention to the headache beginning to pound behind Harry's eyes.

"I have got to stop sleeping over," Harry grumbled just loud enough to be heard.

Harry looked up in time to catch a wave of hurt passing over Neville's face before his expression smoothed over once again. Rolling his shoulders, Neville vigorously stirred the pot of beans. "Well, soon enough it won't be an option anymore, anyway."

"Why's that?"

Neville regarded his guest, now leaning stark-naked against a kitchen counter, seemingly searching for the thread of a punchline. When he found none, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed wearily. "Tomorrow is September first." Harry blinked at him, brow raised. "The start of term?"

Realisation smacked Harry straight in the gut. " _Right_ , you start teaching tomorrow." They'd had this conversation enough times for it to be embarrassing that he kept forgetting. Tomorrow marked Neville's first day as Hogwarts' new Herbology professor. But Harry could hardly remove himself from his own head these days to remember the important things in other people's lives.

" _Right_ ," Neville echoed, his voice thin. "You're still watching the greenhouse for me, right? Don't worry," he put his hands up in a put-on bracing motion, "I'll take my terribly dangerous Joya del Sol sprout with me."

This morning was quickly going sideways, souring any sort of lingering euphoria from the night before. "You're so cheeky," Harry chided in an attempt to lighten the mood, sliding closer to the stove.

"That's not quite an answer, Harry." Neville watched him from the corner of his eye as he loaded up their plates. "It's still for just the one week. I'll be back next weekend, and Luna said she can take over starting the week after, once she's back from Singapore."

Harry pushed off the counter and positioned himself behind Neville who, after hitting a gracious growth spurt while Harry himself was off hunting Horcruxes, was now taller than Harry. It was like he had been stretched out, all his soft areas made smooth. Harry had to stand on his toes in order to nuzzle into the back of Neville's neck as he mumbled, "What's Luna doing in Singapore…?"

" _Harry_."

"What?"

Finally at the end of his patience, Neville quickly turned and pushed away Harry's coming advances. "This is important to me," he stressed, waving a spatula in the general direction of his greenhouse. "I need to know that you're serious about helping me out this week."

"I'm serious," Harry breathed, the gravity of it all finally settling on his shoulders, making him feel foolish. The hazy glow was gone and it was time to get back to the real world. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "I-I am. I promise."

For a long moment, Neville merely nodded. Behind his hazel eyes, it looked like he was assessing and calculating before he finally bobbed his head one last resolute time and turned back towards the stove. "I've written down very clear instructions. We can go over them after we have a spot of breakfast." When he faced Harry once again, Neville pushed a plate into his chest and leaned over it to press his lips into Harry's mop of exasperated bedhead. "Now, put some pants on and eat up."

Harry obliged, a well-chastised and subdued smile flitting over his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

** III. **

Harry didn't realise how many nights in a row he'd slept beside Neville until the warmth of him was gone.

Without that crutch to fall back on, he found himself feeling listless after a long day of Auror patrolling. Of course, he had Neville's carefully coordinated list of which of his greenhouse children needed what and for how long. That would keep him busy for a time. But without the prospect of something to fill those later ours….

If Harry was even a fraction of himself from a few years ago, he would have owled another friend. Simple as that. But it had been a while since he saw Ron and Hermione outside of a work capacity. They had baby Hugo now who took up most of their free time. The rest was spent with family or something of the like. And Luna was, apparently, out of the country. Truthfully, Neville and his greenhouse (well, mostly greenhouse adjacent) had been Harry's entire world for months.

Smoke, drink, fuck. Smoke, drink, fuck. Smoke…drink…

" _Fuck_ ," Harry sighed aloud as he unlocked the greenhouse door, letting himself into the still loneliness inside.

He supposed he could always pass the time with intense self-medication. It wouldn't be too far off from what he would have done with Neville here, anyway.

But, first, he would take care of the plants. He rationalised that if he did one truly responsible thing, like making an honest attempt at keeping Neville's business alive and thriving, smoking some of his stash wouldn't feel too terribly wrong. At that point, he would have earned it. They could consider it fair payment for services rendered.

Harry, shedding his Auror robes into a pile on the soil-flecked floor, made for the cash register on the far end of the greenhouse with purpose. Neville had assured him that he had deposited all coins at Gringotts the week before and that Harry would not have to worry about customers during this week. They were all supposed to know the shop's new schedule. All Harry had to worry about were the plants. A task Neville made out to be easy child's play in their quick run-through the day before.

But when Harry picked up the so-called detailed list left for him beside the till, he very much had his doubts.

This was no list — this was a fucking _book_. A novel. A glorified instruction manual.

"'It's so easy, Harry'," he mocked in a high, shrill voice while flipping through page after page of information. "'They practically take care of themselves; I promise.'"

The plants did not take care of themselves. In fact, they proved to all be rather needy little blighters. Even the simple planter of miniature pink roses behind the register required no less than four different charms to provide it with exactly five hours of sunlight, the proportionate amount of humidity, and adequate circulation. Harry could feel the thing wilting already under his clumsy attempt at pruning the dead leaves. If he couldn't at least keep alive a plant most people grow in their gardens, how was he even going to come close with the finicky magical flora?

The second page in Neville's manual swiftly moved Harry onto testing exactly that. The header read "Erumpent Ear — HIGH MAINTENANCE" and he nearly gave up right then and there. A cursory flip through the other twenty-odd pages revealed that only two others were noted with this warning, which gave him at least a small amount of hope.

With the aid of Neville's (admittedly helpful) instructions, Harry found this next plant rather easily. Each row was meticulously organised and pots and planters were coordinated to match its occupant's threat level. The Erumpent Ear was housed in a mustard-coloured planter against the wall, the top of its leaves just tall enough to reach Harry's hip. Harry had only seen Erumpents in textbooks, but he could recognise right away the midnight-grey colour of their skin in the pigment of its foliage.

Without thinking, he ran his finger down the middle vein of one leaf, curious as to its texture, and startled when the plant shrank backwards in response. Harry apologised, crouching down in order to be closer to its level. He consulted Neville's notes, rolling his eyes at the suggestion that the Erumpent Ear appreciated conversation before being handled. "I suppose I should've asked for permission first," he said and skimmed the rest of the directions. It required sunlight and humidity charms, as well, and a soft misting charm for good measure. On top of that, its delicate leaves needed hand-cleaning once per week — on Mondays, of course — and it needed regular checks for destructive pests.

"You really are high maintenance, aren't you?"

As if in response, the plant twitched forward at its lava-red stalk.

A fond smile flitted over Harry's lips. "Alright, so…bear with me, but I've never made conversation with a plant before." He pulled his wand from its holster at his belt, setting to work on ensuring the charms he'd practised with Neville the day before were properly in place. "Suppose I don't know where to even start. My name's Harry, Harry Potter. Your…dad? Your _Neville_ , he's away for a bit. Brilliant little bugger earned himself a teaching job at Hogwarts — that's where we went to school when we were boys. Professor Sprout retired last year and Professor McGonagall reached out to Neville first thing. They said he was their first pick, and I believe it. I mean, just look at you and all of your friends here. You're thriving.

"I'm sure you'll miss him and I know I won't be a great replacement, but the good news is you won't have to put up with me for long." The plant moved again, rustling its leaves in question. "Well, because this really isn't my cup of tea. Not that I have anything against Herbology, it just wasn't ever my strongest subject. Certainly not like it was for Neville. Truthfully, I don't know that I even _had_ a strong subject, but that's neither here nor there. Either way, you'll be better taken care of by Luna once she's back. She'd love to have lengthy conversations with you. With _all_ of you."

Harry set his wand down on the wood floor, feeling the freshly-cast misting charm against his face in this proximity. He and the Erumpent Ear twisted at the same time, basking in the pleasantly soft spray of moisture. "I can see why you'd feel comfortable like this." Harry found himself chuckling, feeling weirdly at ease with his evening chore. Curious, he once again consulted Neville's instructions and interrupted his own silence with a sharp laugh.

Written in Neville's curling script at the end of the Erumpent Ear's instructions was a note about its magical properties — _Keeping this particular plant around a household can produce an overall change in its occupants' spirits. Although she can be difficult to care for, especially if not kept up on, she returns the favour of her care in kind. Her leaves secrete a colourless, odourless gas which, when inhaled, can instil in her caregivers a sense of euphoria._

"That's very kind of you," Harry said appreciatively, reaching for the clay bowl laying on the floor beside the plant. He filled it from the watering can on his other side and wet the sponge within. "I suppose we're friends now, so would you mind if I gave you your bath?"

The Erumpent Ear bent closer towards Harry's chest, fanning its dark leaves out for easier access.

"You know, these days I could use all the calming effects I can get. Not that life is altogether stressful or anything." Harry carefully pulled the damp sponge down the length of one leaf, cradling its leathery underside like it was a butterfly in his palm. "They don't put me on too many dangerous cases at the Ministry. Don't want the Chosen One killed in action. How would they ever explain that to my adoring fans?" He snorted, his tone weirdly bitter. It wasn't like he minded being on the "safer" cases. Most of the time….

However, at the age of 22, he had very much met the end of the patience he held when it came to receiving special treatment. He had proven himself over and over again in training and now in the field. If they could at least allow him the chance to test his skills on something other than owl fraud and non-tradable materials, he could probably find a way to be more content.

"I'm just…," he continued, but found he wasn't sure what exactly he _was_. Tired? Fed up? Lonely despite finding himself in a warm bed nearly every night?

"If I had to try and put a finger on it, I guess I would say that it feels like there's a piece missing. I'm sure you know how that feels." Harry came to a leaf with a sizable missing chunk about the size of a Kneazle bite. He wiped more carefully around the edges of the wound. "No matter how hard you might try to live without what's missing, no matter how many other pieces you grow to try and replace it…."

Tears choked Harry's throat and streamed over his cheeks before he could stop them. He hadn't realised just how this pent-up feeling of emptiness affected him until he spoke about it. And to a plant of all things!

He wiped furiously at his face, cleared his throat, set himself back to task. "I went through a rough breakup, you see. About six months ago. I think it was my fault things ended, too, which makes it all hurt more. This guy and I, we've known each other for about half our lives. And I guess I…well, I had this idea of him in my head. I never let it go. I felt — _feel_ — so intensely about him. Romantically and otherwise. I kept some grudges and one day…." Harry made an explosion sound, following it with a laugh in an ill attempt at pretending he found any humour in the situation.

"I'm fucked up, little lady. I'm fucked up and I just _keep_ fucking up. Probably a good thing Robards — that's my boss — never puts me on murder cases. Can't say I'm really stable enough to be subjective if I was ever put up against someone truly evil again."

A persistent tear trailed down Harry's face and dropped off his chin into the Erumpent Ear's soil. It appeared to shiver, as if it almost couldn't handle the effect of sadness in its roots. Harry sighed and wiped at the last leaf. "There you go, all better." He set the sponge aside and took a cursory look through the soil, coming up empty-handed of critters. "I guess that means our time together is done for the night." The plant twisted on its stalk, leaves stretching out in Harry's direction. "No, I really can't stay. You're a wonderful conversational partner, but your friends need help, too. Neville seems to think a few need just as much attention as you do.

As if in a last-ditch effort, the Erumpent Ear began to shake like it had the chills.

"But…maybe if there's time later, I can come back to check on you for a few minutes before I shove off to bed." Harry picked the watering can back up, pouring just enough to wet the soil in the planter. The plant calmed immediately, soothed by both Harry's words and offering.

As he rose back to his feet, Harry stretched out his back. A glance at his watch showed him that he'd been down on the floor for a good half hour with the Erumpent Ear. It hardly felt like enough, even though he knew he had a long night left ahead of him.

A weary sigh falling from his lips, Harry turned around to address the next item on his list. If he had been even a fraction less aware, he wouldn't have noticed the shadow-drenched figure leaning against the wall just beside the entrance to the greenhouse. He was distracted and swimming in his own thoughts, but he still had his wits about him. Sort of.

Swearing under his breath, he fumbled for his wand which he'd stupidly left on the floor. As soon as he was once again on his feet, legs set apart and slightly hunched in a practiced defensive stance, he aimed his wand at the man-sized shadow and set off a set of warning sparks.

Illuminated in the soft blue sparks was a face Harry would recognise practically anywhere. The light faded and he breathed a soft sigh of relief, one which caught on the emotion still clogging his throat. "Malfoy," he spoke into the darkness, haphazardly flicking his wand towards the lantern over the door. Harry had too many questions, all of which exited his mouth at once in a jumble of indignance. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you knock or…or something? How long have you _been_ here?"

It felt far too much like cruel fate that Harry would have practically poured his soul out to a plant about _this_ man just to turn around and find him standing there waiting. Waiting for what exactly, he didn't know, but that didn't keep his mind from running rampant with possibilities.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Draco Malfoy parried, looking just as pious as ever. It psychically pained Harry that he still found the man so handsome. He wanted so badly to just be over him, not to feel his heart pounding with excitement just at the sight of him.

Harry hadn't seen Draco since their breakup. He had very actively avoided any place where he might glimpse him. Truly, he had avoided going anywhere but to work, home, and here. Here being the absolute last place he ever thought he'd have to be worried. "I'm helping Nev," Harry muttered, too exhausted from the way his mind kept churning in disbelief and woe to formulate a proper explanation.

Draco tilted his head to the side, savouring the awkward silence like he could feed upon it. His stare was firey, leaving small burns over every inch of Harry's body. (Never mind that he was also remembering every other sensation this man had ever made him feel.) "This is a shop…of which I am occasionally a customer," Draco finally stated, as if providing a reason was unnecessary.

"Shop's not open," Harry grunted, turning his attention to the three pots of aconite before him simply for something to do. It was easier not to have to stare at Draco. It was easier not to remember the violent way in which they ended. The hurtful words he had slung and the way they had twisted Draco's expression into someone he hadn't recognised — a fragile human being. "Neville won't be back until Saturday; he's teaching at Hogwarts now."

"Well, can't you just sell me what I need?" Draco sighed softly and Harry glimpsed him examining his nails from the corner of his eye. "Or are you going to tell me you don't serve my _kind_?"

The insult, thrown back in Harry's face, was violent and intended to harm. He winced and cowered, covering the reaction by tipping the watering can around the bell-shaped flowers. "You have every right to still be upset over what I said that day," he choked out around his quickly-beating heart. "After all, I never did properly apologise. I've had a lot of time to think about how I treated you when we were together. I'm sorry for all of the hurt I caused." _To both of us_ , he thought.

In the stillness of the greenhouse, Draco's footsteps rang like cannon fire. Harry felt every single one radiate throughout him like a second, anticipatory heartbeat. He didn't look up when Draco stopped beside him. He couldn't remove his attention from his busywork because he was afraid of what he might find in the expression of the man he still loved so deeply.

"I heard what you said," Draco stated simply. Harry swallowed hard, clenching tighter at the watering can's handle. "Never mind that you're clearly mad these days if you're holding conversations with plants." A soft smile stretched at Harry's lips despite his best efforts to hold it back. He looked up just barely, catching that Draco wore a similarly pained look of mirth. "I truly didn't come here to fight with you, Potter. That's all behind me. I just needed…. Longbottom sells me a product every now and then. Something to help me sleep at night. If I had known you were here instead of him, I would have respectfully kept my distance."

Harry nodded slowly, finally looking up and into the steely grey of Draco's eyes. "I can imagine being near me can be painful."

"It's not all bad." Draco smiled again and Harry wished there was more room between them. He was not over this man, not even a little bit. "You're still nice to look at, even if you're a prat."

In a sure sign of weakness, Harry's cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red. It was still dimly lit in the greenhouse, but there would be no mistaking his blush in this proximity. He forced himself to take a step back, putting distance between his reckless thoughts and Draco's soft lips. "What was it that you came to purchase?" he asked, his tone clipped from the exertion of his restraint.

For a silent moment, Draco only studied Harry. When they were still together, Harry had grown comfortable with these quiet bouts of contemplation. Draco was a pensive man and often needed to sort through his thoughts before voicing the correct one aloud. In the stillness, it was almost too obvious how different he and Neville truly were. Neville blurted the first thing to pop into his mind, even though he was otherwise soft in all other places Draco was sharp. They were like a mirrored reflection of one another.

Harry had to wonder if he'd gravitated towards Neville on purpose, by that fact, or simply by sheer dumb luck.

"I'm here for cannabis, Potter," Draco finally said, breaking Harry's roiling turmoil. "Not sure your stance on that, being an oh-so-important Auror and all, but Longbottom really does grow the most useful strains. Otherwise, I'd make an excuse right now and attempt to go somewhere else."

"Oh." Harry couldn't help but snort a noise of near disbelief. "Is that all, then?" He gestured for Draco to follow as he made his way out the back door.

"Guess you're fine with your friend essentially being a drug dealer in the eyes of the Ministry, then?"

"He's very good about sharing."

Neville likely had a store of "supplies" that he sold to the general public, probably hidden away somewhere down in the cellar. But Harry wouldn't begin to know where to look if he went searching down there. Besides that, he had been expressly forbidden from opening the cellar door. Apparently, Neville had already cast his week-worth of charms upon his marijuana plants and Harry's intrusion could disturb their balance.

So, Harry led Draco past the willow tree and its hidden hammock, past the vegetable garden and its winter squashes, and straight to the front door of Neville's cottage. He cast the appropriate unlocking charm and let them inside.

Per usual, the cottage was in a state of leftover disrepair from the morning. If anything, it was worse than ever due to Neville's hasty last-minute packing and rushed exit. Another thing which separated Harry's ex-boyfriend from his current lover — Draco never would have tolerated Neville's day-to-day mess.

Harry self-consciously moved a few dishes from the stove to the sink and tried to ignore the squirming feeling in his stomach. "Er…do you usually buy a certain strain, or…?" he asked as he opened the medicine cupboard to reveal not only the everyday wizard's standard collection of potions but also a full shelf of more experimental substances.

"It's an indica-based tincture." Draco peered into the cupboard, pulling an impressed expression at the variety. "The label usually says 'Sleep'."

"Simple enough." Harry pushed aside all the stash jars full of buds and pulled the contents towards the back closer so he could read the labels. "We usually just…." He pressed his right pointer finger and thumb together and brought them to his lips by way of explanation.

"You must spend a lot of time here, then."

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Draco's statement reek of disappointment? "Yeah, but, uh…things are just casual between us." He sorted through the vials of amber liquid. "We're not, like, dating or anything." It was important to Harry that Draco understood that. It was important to him that Draco knew he was still technically single and waiting. "How about you? Dating anyone new?"

Draco reached around Harry and plucked out one of the vials with a purple label. He turned it around so Harry could see the word "Sleep" written in Neville's handwriting. "Tell Longbottom I'll stop by and pay him on Saturday," he mumbled and quickly turned towards the door. "It was…," he faltered, likely about to say that it was nice to see Harry again.

Knowing that he couldn't describe their meeting tonight so pleasantly either, Harry nodded and softly shut the cupboard door. "I'll tell him. Take care of yourself, Malfoy," he urged and meant it. Harry knew now that Draco deserved someone so much better than himself. He knew that Draco deserved a good and easy life. He sincerely hoped the sleeping problems were superficial and maybe job-stress related and not a lasting effect Harry himself might have caused.

With one momentary stop in the doorway, Draco kept his gaze trained at his feet and resolutely nodded as if agreeing that he did deserve just that. He spoke no words as he left, once again taking that vital piece of Harry's heart with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

Harry found himself wandering back towards the greenhouse in almost a dream-like state. He left each door he crossed through wide open and stumbled upon the path he knew by heart. It felt like he was merely along for the ride in his own body, a shell of a person. A ghost stupidly going through their day-to-day routine without even realising they were dead.

He locked the entrance to the greenhouse and finished Neville's list in that same daze, going through the motions with much less enthusiasm than he'd even started. By the time he reached the last page of the manual, he sighed with relief and shuffled back the way he came. Neville's bed wasn't too far off and the scent of something familiar sounded comforting.

On his way out the door, he paused at a small flicker of movement in his peripheral. The Erumpent Ear was shaking its leathery leaves, apparently attempting to catch Harry's attention by the way it seemed to pump its branches in excitement once he looked on. "Suppose you saw most of that shit show," Harry mumbled, leaning into and thunking his forehead against the doorframe. "It went even worse than you saw, though. Like…bad enough that there's no coming back from it."

Ultimately, that was what stung the most. Somewhere deep inside, Harry had been harbouring a hope that one day he and Draco could overcome the things he'd said and move on. But six months later, Harry was very clearly still the "bad guy". And, worst of all, it now appeared to Draco that he had already moved on with someone else. As much as he could protest that things between him and Neville were pretty casual, he'd admitted to spending a lot of time with this new man. He hadn't said much, but what he had said clearly hinted at a sexual relationship. He couldn't blame Draco for leaving the way he did. He couldn't blame him for feeling hurt all over again.

With his mistakes clogging the forefront of his mind, Harry wished he wasn't alone tonight. It was a situation he could likely easily fix, but that required being around people. It required conversations he didn't have the energy for. And, truthfully, if he found someone to spend the night with, they simply wouldn't have measured up, anyway. He wanted a specific person in his arms, and that just wasn't going to happen.

The Erumpent Ear shook its leaves again, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "Maybe I will take you with me," Harry declared, sighing heavily. The company of a plant, he supposed, was better than nothing. Especially if he could feel even a fraction of the calm he had when they were in close proximity earlier in the evening. "Just promise not to die on me, alright?" he reassured as he bent to pick up the planter, propping it against his hip while cradling it in the crook of his arm. "Neville would kill me if I harmed one of his children. And, as you know, Neville really isn't the killing type. Well…not unless he has to be. Did he ever tell you about that?"

The plant twisted on its stalk in answer.

Harry carried the Erumpent Ear out the back door of the greenhouse and along the stoned path to the cottage. In the dark stillness of the night, a blanket of stars and waning moon illuminated their path. With every step he took, Harry could feel himself growing a fraction lighter. He talked to the plant, telling the story of Neville's bravest moment during the war four years before. In return, the plant instilled him with momentary serenity. Soothing his pain in exchange for his company.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Um...I didn't mean for this to get so...sad? There will be a sequel. I promise. Subscribe for that happy ending in the future!
> 
> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Magic anthology](/series/1900732), a series of Drarry fics inspired by Hogwarts’ seven core subjects.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/2Qx1l1Y); seven songs for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


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